


Settling, Without Dragons

by betony



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: Family, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:25:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/pseuds/betony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the King of the Enchanted Forest gets to know his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Settling, Without Dragons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RecessiveJean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecessiveJean/gifts).



For a man with a sixteen-year-old son, Mendanbar was all too aware that he was sadly ignorant of most of the milestones that a father was meant to share with his child. He had no idea what Daystar’s first word had been until Cimorene mentioned in passing that it had been _“please”_ (and, once he thought about it, that was only to be expected, both for a Prince of the Enchanted Forest and for a son that Cimorene had raised.) He was utterly ignorant of the fact that Cimorene had worried about Daystar’s stubborn refusal to even try walking until the day he’d calmly gotten to his feet and taken a few steady steps forward. 

He hadn’t even realized that his own son was not terribly fond of strawberries until the evening he’d unthinkingly piled a generous serving of dessert onto Daystar’s plate. Daystar had stared at the strawberry tart for a moment before finishing it, crumbs and all, without complaint. It had been Cimorene who’d looked over and said, “Oh, Daystar, I had Cook make apple crumble for you instead. You might have asked!” 

All in all, Mendanbar spent most of his first few days around his son feeling a fraud. 

Cimorene thought he was being ridiculous; and being Cimorene, had no compunction about telling him so to his face. “Nonsense,” she said whenever he brought this up; “Of course he’s not disappointed in you. You’re his father!” 

But that didn’t necessarily mean Daystar had to love him, and even less did it mean he had to like him, Mendanbar thought, ruefully remembering his own father. At least the former King of the Enchanted Forest had been an excellent model of how to manage the responsibilities of a kingdom on top of casting the spells necessary to keep it running. 

Mendanbar rather doubted he could be of any help with that, either. Daystar had not only managed to have the Forest and the Sword recognize him as King without assistance--and once again Mendanbar felt his heart swell with pride—but he was as brilliant a prodigy at magic as Mendanbar had ever seen. Yes, there had been that one little problem with the politeness spell on his friend Shiara, but Daystar had worked out how to break the wizard’s spell and banish that blasted Antorell, not to mention a demon, on instinct alone. 

Even Mendanbar’s one remaining talent—that of escaping the advances of featherbrained princesses–seemed likely to no longer apply to his son. Based on Daystar’s description of his adventures, he’d done a perfectly fine job of wriggling through a princess’s outrageous demands, and of course, it seemed he’d already found a princess—albeit a princess only by right of working for the King of the Dragons—who he might not mind marrying in the future. 

About the only thing Mendanbar thought Daystar might benefit from was an introduction to international diplomacy. From what Cimorene told him, most of the rulers nearby were still those he remembered from sixteen years ago, but reminding all of them that the Royal Family of the Enchanted Forest had returned seemed wise nonetheless. And though Daystar had been introduced to the Enchanted Forest’s residents as their Crown Prince at the feast celebrating the wizards’ defeat, he’d never been properly introduced to the neighboring royals. 

Willin was ecstatic at the prospect of planning a formal state dinner—so ecstatic, in fact, that he set about making double the usual amount of lists. Cimorene was resigned to the fuss, but obligingly reviewed all she, Morwen, and Kazul had discovered about their neighbors over the past few years. Apparently among other less interesting tidbits, Queen Alexandra’s eldest son-in-law had tried to usurp the kingdom, had been defeated, and now everyone politely pretended the whole thing hadn’t happened at all; and the troll kingdom to the north was currently happily scandalized by the way their princess had managed to elope with a human prince who’d been enchanted to turn into a great white bear. 

Daystar, for his part, had been measured for a fine new set of clothes, along with a thin golden circlet to mark him as Crown Prince. He seemed to grow quieter as the state dinner approached, but once or twice, Mendanbar caught him speaking avidly to Willin, which only made him feel al the more disappointed in himself. His son had enough to talk about Willin, but, it seemed, nothing at all in common with his father. 

“Ridiculous,” said Cimorene sleepily when he mentioned it to her, and as much as he tried to believe her, it didn’t ease his worry. 

The state dinner, when at last it occurred, seemed to go off quite well. Daystar stood at the center of attention, and, though he’d always been a quiet and thoughtful boy, limited his conversation with the guests to rather stiff greetings and elaborate formal bows. He seemed to impress them, nonetheless, Mendanbar thought; and, if nothing else, at least being able to discuss him with his fellow monarchs and parents was just as satisfying as he’d imagined, those sixteen years away from his family. 

And the calm came to an end. At first Mendanbar supposed that Queen Alexandra’s son-in-law must have wandered over to her table and prompted a civil war; but on closer examination, the ruckus seemed to originate from a young woman who’d just entered. She had long pale hair tied back in plait, sensible boots, and a stubborn expression that promised trouble for someone soon. 

Daystar, who was closest, bowed and said mildly, “Welcome. My name is Daystar, and—“ 

“Oh, I don’t have time to talk,” the woman interrupted, “I’ve come all this way to the kingdom east of the sun and west of the moon 

Daystar blinked. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” he said. “This is the Enchanted Forest, you see.” 

“And _east of the sun, west of the moon_ is nothing more than a way to shake me off, but you can see it won’t work. Where else would I look for it but the Enchanted Forest—Ah! There you are!” 

Chin held high, the stranger began to charge towards where the delegation from the troll kingdom was seated. Daystar, now looking truly alarmed, followed her. The troll princess’s betrothed, who Mendanbar had spoken to earlier and found a reasonable fellow, for a prince, blanched when he saw the young woman coming but held his ground. 

“Not you again,” he groaned, and his fiancé turned around as well. The prince went on: “Why won’t you leave me alone?” 

“You deserted me!” the young woman snapped. “We lived together in our enchanted palace for a year and a day, but then you left me, and what was I supposed to do then?” 

“For the thousandth time, Alva, he did nothing of the sort,” retorted the troll princess. “He let you stay in the guest wing because he felt sorry for you, but then he fell in love with me and came home to meet my family.” 

“Because you enchanted him,” wailed Alva, “and bound him to return with you to your blighted northern land.” 

“It’s really not that bad, once you get used to it—“ started the prince, but Alva was having none of it. 

“You!” she snapped, turning to Daystar. “You’re the prince of the kingdom, aren’t you? You decide who gets him.” 

“Um—“ he began and trailed off; fortunately Cimorene stepped up beside him and said, quite coolly, “And I would happen to be the Queen of the Enchanted Forest, and Daystar’s mother. Is there any reason why we can’t simply ask the prince in question what he’d like to do?” 

“I told you, he’s been placed under vile enchantment! You can’t possibly trust a word he says!” 

“I have not!” cried the prince indignantly, while his fiancé jeered, “As though you would know. You’re not even the one who kissed him to break his spell—you just went prying into his room when he was asleep, tripped, and burned him with candle-wax.” 

Cimorene raised her eyebrows, but Alva brightened. “Well, there! Whoever manages to get the wax-stain from his shirt proves herself his true love.” She paused. “I’m good at shirts. I used to wash all my siblings’ shirts back home." 

“If you think,” said the troll princess, very slowly, “that I am going to start scrubbing a shirt like a common laundress before every dignitary here, you are unfortunately even stupider than you look.” 

“And,” added the prince very quickly, “I am not going back with you, no matter how many shirts you scrub. To begin with, I don’t see what scrubbing shirts has to do with anything. What matters is that I love Sigrid, and she loves me.” 

Alva’s eyes filled with tears. “Then what am I supposed to do? I can’t go back home and take care of my siblings, I won’t!” 

Cimorene looked too disgusted even to speak. Daystar rather looked as though he wanted to disappear. Mendanbar cleared his throat. 

"It seems to me," he said, "that in all of this, there is an enchanted palace left unaccounted for. I assume, that as the troll kingdom has a perfectly serviceable castle of its own, that neither of you would have any objection to Mistress Alva taking possession of it?" 

The prince and princess looked at each other and shrugged. 

“You mean it?” said Alva, brightening instantly. “I can have the clothes, and the furniture and all of it? Even the books?” 

“Sure,” said the prince. “No skin off my back.” 

“Oh, _thank_ you!’ said Alva rapturously, her earlier irritation forgotten. Mendanbar and Cimorene shared a look, lips twitching, but when Mendanbar turned to share his amusement with Daystar, too, his son was nowhere to be found. 

* * *

After the guests had retired, Mendanbar, his head pounding from, in no particular order: his crown, an evening spent talking to a herd of dignitaries, all of whom wanted to congratulate him and Cimorene for their handling of a potentially difficult situation, and his son, who had yet to reappear, decided it had been years—literally—since he’d last visited the Green Glass Pool, and that now was as good a time as any other to go. Cimorene had already settled down for a chat with Crown Prince--now King--Jorilliam, and it seemed no one would need him urgently for the time being. But as his surrounding faded into gray mist, before coming back into focus, he looked out at the pool, only to find someone sitting by it already. 

“Hello, Daystar,” he said gently. 

His son—slumped with his chin in his hands, circlet discarded beside him—straightened at once. “Father! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave so early—“ 

“It’s all right,” said Mendanbar, coming forward to sit next to him. “The rest of the dinner was considerably less entertaining.” 

Daystar groaned. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said again. “I know you wanted to make a good impression at dinner tonight, and I’m sorry it came off so badly.” 

It occurred to Mendanbar that Daystar was, for reasons of his own, feeling guilty about the whole thing. “Daystar, what do you mean?” 

“I just don’t know the first thing about being a prince. I tried to get Willin’s advice, but then all that business with the prince happened, and I wasn’t sure what to do, and I’m sorry I disappointed you—“ 

“Disappointed me?” Mendanbar began to laugh, despite his son’s stricken expression. He managed to stop before Daystar looked even more hurt. “How could you possibly have disappointed me? Daystar, you’re ten times the prince I was at your age.” 

“Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.” 

“Nothing of the sort. Ask Willin sometime if you don’t believe me.” 

“Oh.” Daystar looked down at his hands, and then back at his father. “Mother never told me much about you when I was young. I expect I didn’t need to know, then. But I always used to wonder, what you’d think of me.” 

Mendanbar chuckled. “I used to wonder about you, too. Where I was….there wasn’t much else to do for seventeen years, and back then, your mother and I had only just found out that we were going to have you. We weren’t even sure if you’d be a boy or girl, tall or short, magical or not. But I still used to think about all the things I would do with you, all I would teach you, your first words, your first steps, your first signs of magic....” His smile was going crooked again; he knew without having to study the reflection below. So many years lost. “It appears I was bit late for most of it. I'm sorry, Daystar. I meant to do more for you." 

His son only blinked by way of response. "What do you mean? I don't know the first thing about the Enchanted Forest's magic--well, I know how to use it, sort of, but Mother says I should really talk to you if I want to know what I'm doing. And I can't make head or tail of what Willin says the protocol for the Enchanted Forest's ceremonies are. And--and if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to spend more time with you. If you're not busy. So I could know you a bit better?" 

It was Mendanbar's turn to blink. "Well. If that's the case--perhaps you'd like to help me sort through some diplomatic envoys tomorrow morning? And then we could have another go at figuring out that spell you cast on your friend Shiara?" 

Daystar brightened. "I'd like that." After a pause, he added: "And besides, it's like what they said earlier--scrubbing shirts, or being the first one to teach me about something, that's not all there is to love, is there?" 

"No," said Mendanbar thoughtfully, "it's not." He got to his feet. "Are you ready to go back, Daystar? you missed dessert, and your mother made cherries jubilee." He hesitated. "You do like cherries jubilee, don't you?" 

"Of course," said Daystar, with a nearly grown boy's eagerness, and Mendanbar laughed. Together, the King of the Enchanted Forest and his son reached for the cords of magic, and went home.


End file.
